The Rogue (32 page)

Gently,
careful to be completely brotherly, Ethan pulled her closer to lay
her head upon his shoulder. "Then rest on me. I'll see you
safe."

She
allowed it, remaining there until he felt her go limp with
exhaustion. Only then did he put his arm around her to support her
against the jostling of the carriage. As night fell on them, he
remained unmoving all the long way back from Moorfields to Mayfair,
unwilling to wake her from her peaceful slumber.

When
the carriage arrived on his street, he rapped on the trapdoor. "Drive
past to the alley in the rear," he told the man. Someone might
be watching the house, but Ethan thought they just might be safe
enough going in through the back in the dark.

Jane
was still quite limp. Ethan didn't rouse her, but lifted her into his
arms. When he disembarked in the alley, he was unsurprised to see
Jeeves there, holding a lantern with one hand and the garden gate
open with the other, without a trace of surprise on his face.

"Uri
can take the young lady, sir," Jeeves said, as if he often took
delivery of unconscious women in the evening.

Ethan
let out a small gust of laughter. "What
did
you do in your former employ, Jeeves—work for a circus?"

Jeeves
nodded serenely. "One could say that, sir."

Uri,
a giant blond fellow, Cossack by the look of him, stepped forward to
take Jane. Ethan strode right past him. "I shall manage."

"I'll
have a room made up in a moment, sir," Jeeves said.

"Don't
bother," Ethan muttered. "She'll be in mine."

Jeeves's
brows shot up at that. "Yes, sir. Shall I make up the sofa in
your study for you, sir?"

Ethan
didn't answer, for he was already on the stairs. In his chamber, he
found a fire in his hearth and his covers already turned down. He
turned from the bed and placed Jane gently in the chair.

Jeeves
appeared in the doorway with a tray holding a steaming teapot and a
plate of biscuits. "Will the young lady be requiring a
physician, sir?"

"No."
Ethan straightened and gazed down at her. Her hair spilled tangled
and lank over the ugly, outdated gown. She had lost a slipper
somewhere in the rescue and her bare foot was filthy and scratched.

"She's
only weary." Ethan turned. "But I think she would like a
b—"

Uri
appeared behind Jeeves toting two huge steaming buckets.

"Bath,"
Ethan finished weakly.

Mrs.
Cook bustled in. "Uri, fetch the tub and put it next to the
hearth. Mr. Jeeves, would you find something for the miss to change
into? I'm set to burn that awful gown, I am." She turned to
Ethan, her round face crinkling into a smile. "Good evening,
sir. Now, go on. Get out."

Ethan
blinked. She waved her apron at him as if she were shooing chickens.
"Go on with you now. You didn't think you were going to help her
bathe, did you?"

Ethan
stumbled back from her domestic vehemence. "No! No, of course
not—"

The
next thing he knew, he was out in the hall with Jeeves and Uri and
the door to his own chamber was firmly shut in his face.

He
turned to glare at Jeeves. "So that is Mrs. Cook?"

Jeeves
nodded serenely. "Yes, sir. Isn't she a marvel?"

Ethan
was in no mood to agree, but even his protectiveness could not argue
with the sense of letting a woman tend Jane. Mrs. Cook would cosset
her, he could tell. Jane deserved a bit of cosseting right now.

So
he bit back his irrational protest and went down to his study for a
brandy—but of course, that was locked away from him as well.

He
stood in the center of his study without tea, without brandy, and
without Jane. "Oh, this is my house all right," he said out
loud. "I can tell from the lack of respect."

Finally,
Mrs. Cook came to tell him that she had put Jane to bed. "She's
a bit worn out, but I got some tea down her and she's sleeping off
all her troubles." Then she folded her arms beneath her mighty
bosom and glared at him. "What are you going to do about her
things?"

Ethan
blinked. "What things?"

Mrs.
Cook nodded. "That's right. What is she supposed to wear? She
can't live in your dressing gown."

Jane
was wearing his dressing gown? It would be too big for her, but the
green velvet would look very well on her indeed—

Mrs.
Cook interrupted his wayward musings with a pointed throat clearing.

"Can
you find her some things tomorrow, please? Anything you think will
do, just have it charged—" No. He'd forgotten. There would
be no charging of feminine things to Diamond House. He shook his
head. "I'm sorry, but she'll just have to make do… unless
you have something to lend to her?"

Mrs.
Cook looked at him as if he were not only miserly but mad. Ethan
could hardly tell her the truth. She was a respectable woman, a
quality servant. She would never put up with such nonsense, nor would
Jeeves.

No,
he would have to keep it secret for as long as possible that, as of
this afternoon, he hadn't a penny to his name.

Jane
slept like a woman, not a child. Ethan looked down at her in the
light of the single candle he held. There was really no other way to
phrase it. She did not curl up small, nor did she fling her limbs out
with abandon. She lay in a pose of strength and grace, on her back
with one hand at her neck, fingers curled loosely at her collarbone,
and the other hand resting across her stomach, atop the green velvet
covers. Her face was smooth and still, not at all like her usual
vibrant flickering expressions. She looked beautiful and somber, like
a Renaissance angel.

The
kitten jumped up on the bed with that peculiar bursting
suspended-on-a-string way it had. Ethan scooped it up before it could
disturb Jane and cupped it to his side. A loud purr erupted from
within his hand.

He
ought to leave her be. He ought to go down to his made-up sofa in the
study and get some rest.

Instead,
he pulled the fireside chair closer to the bed and sat down with the
kitten in his lap to watch Jane sleep.

The
breakfast table groaned with savory treats. Apparently, Mrs. Cook
felt that Jane was too thin.

Ethan
sat across from her and they both did their best to compliment the
cook by making some small dent in the plenty.

Ethan
seemed to be trying to hide some of it in his pocket.

Jane
was hard-pressed to define the precise cause for the awkward silence
between them this morning… other than the fact that she'd
spent the night in his house, in his bed, and now sat at his
breakfast table clad in his dressing gown.

She'd
never been in this strange half-intimate, half-wary position before.
So she ate silently, hoping that Ethan knew what to do about it.

As
the heavy hush stretched on, it became clear that Mr. Ethan Damont
hadn't a clue.

Out
of the corner of her eye, Jane spotted Ethan's hand again slipping
surreptitiously to the pocket of his dressing gown.

"If
you don't like kidneys, why do you suffer them at your table?"
she asked, unable to bear her own curiosity any longer.

He
assumed an innocent expression. "I do like kidneys." He
popped a forkful into his mouth and chewed with every sign of
enjoyment. "There."

Jane
gazed at him suspiciously for a moment, then returned her attention
to her own plate.

When
his hand slipped once more to his pocket, Jane sighed and put down
her fork. "I cannot help it. I've tried my best to ignore it,
but I must know." She pushed back her chair before the butler
could reach her and strode around the table. Ethan leaned back warily
as she approached.

She
put out her hand. "Give it to me."

Ethan
blinked sweetly up at her. "Why, Lady Jane, I've no idea what
you mean!" Jeeves made a tiny choking noise behind her. She
ignored him and focused her entire attention on Ethan. Her hand
remained extended, unmoving, until finally he let his shoulders slump
in resignation.

"Oh,
very well." He reached into his pocket. "Here."

He
plunked something warm and fuzzy and squirming into her waiting palm.
Jane gasped in shock. "Ethan Damont, you should be ashamed!"
She shook her head at him furiously. "Giving kidneys to such a
baby!" She tucked the kitten protectively under her chin.
"That's far too rich a fare! Jeeves, room temperature cream, if
you please," she ordered briskly.

"Yes,
my lady." Jeeves reappeared almost instantly with a saucer and a
small pitcher. Jane made a place next to her plate.

"Oy!"
Ethan protested. "That's
my
moggie!"

Jane
reluctantly untucked the kitten from her neck. "Well…"
she said slowly. "Very well, if you promise not to feed her any
more ridiculous fare until she is old enough to digest them."

"He,"
muttered Ethan as he repossessed his kitten. "The proper address
is 'he.' His name is Zeus."

"Zeus?
Zeus
?"
Jane sank to her chair, one hand over her mouth. Her shoulders shook.
Bloody hell, she was laughing at him again. While he waited for her
to subside, Ethan stroked one finger over Zeus's head while the
kitten made short work of the cream.

Finally,
he could bear no more. "Are you quite finished?"

Jane
waved a languid hand his way. "Al-almost!" she gasped.

Zeus
plunked his tiny bottom on the fine table linen and clumsily began to
wash the splashed cream from his face with one tongue-dampened paw.

Jane
slid back in her chair, her arms crossed over her aching midriff.
"The mighty hunter has returned from the kill. Zeus." She
snickered again. "Tell me, is he the one with delusions of
grandeur, or is it you?"

Ethan
shot her a disgruntled glare. "What's wrong with the name Zeus?"

"Not
a thing," she retorted gleefully, "if you're a thirty-stone
lion on the veldt."

Ethan
folded his arms. "Well, I see no reason to call him 'Precious'
or 'Fluffy,' or some other embarrassing title which will someday
require him to trounce numerous other toms in order to prove his
manhood."

Jane
blinked. "Why, Mr. Damont—I do believe I just caught you
considering the future!"

Ethan
drew back. "I did no such thing!"

"Yes
you did. You obtained a cat and named him for who he would be, not
who he is. You planned ahead!" She fluttered her lashes and
sighed dramatically. "I'm so proud."

Her
antics pulled a reluctant laugh from him. "You're obnoxious, my
lady."

She
simpered at him. "And I feel the same for you, kind sir!"

It
was a brief return to the way they had been. Disturbed, Ethan stood
and scooped Zeus up by his round, full little tummy and deposited him
in the customary pocket. "I hate to interrupt your
entertainment," he told Jane. "But I fear I have work to
do."

She
sobered immediately. "You're not returning to Maywell House?"

He
shrugged. "It would raise suspicion if I did not. I'm sure his
lordship is awaiting my report."

"How
will you explain my escape from the sanitarium?"

"You
have not escaped yet, remember? Bess will let herself out when she
sees fit." Ethan shrugged. "Even then, I was told to
deliver you to the institution. I did so. Whatever happened
after—well, that could hardly be considered my fault, could
it?"

"They'll
know someone helped me."

"No,
they'll
suspect
someone helped you. The guard never looked at my face with all those
distractions. I'm sure that I'll come under suspicion, for his
lordship has noticed my partiality to you. The best way to allay
those suspicions is to continue to behave as I have been—a
willing convert to his lordship's cause."

She
reached out and caught his hand as he walked past her. The
spontaneous gesture stopped him in his tracks. With urgent fingers,
she pulled him a step closer. "Take care, Mr. Ethan Damont,"
she said softly. "I should be very unhappy to lose a friend so
recently found."